


Uninhibited

by RetroactiveCon



Series: The Scars Won't Be Tough to Erase [3]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Manipulative Eobard Thawne | Harrison Wells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21861346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetroactiveCon/pseuds/RetroactiveCon
Summary: “If you want, I could help you relax.”Hartley clearly thinks he means kissing. Harrison takes some pleasure in startling him by fetching a bottle of scotch. “Harrison!” he gasps, laughter teasing around the edges of his words. “I can’t!”Harrison pours a glass. “Nobody needs to know,” he says, smiling—a challenge. Hesitantly, Hartley holds out a hand for the glass. “It only has to be the one.”
Relationships: Hartley Rathaway/Harrison Wells | Eobard Thawne
Series: The Scars Won't Be Tough to Erase [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558543
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	Uninhibited

“Checkmate.” Hartley slides a bishop into place, flashing Harrison one of those stunning smiles he reserves for the rare occasions when he wins—victorious but tinged with shyness, as though winning means nothing without Harrison's approval. As always, he’s indulgent, reaching across the table to stroke Hartley’s cheek. 

“Well played. You’ve improved since we first played together.”

“I learned from the best.” Hartley tilts his head, asking without words for a kiss. Harrison smiles at him and stops petting his face. 

“We’re at work.”

“That didn’t stop you last week.” Underneath the bravado, Hartley is terrified: Harrison can see it in every line of his expression. He’s testing to see if what happened between them was a one-time tryst or something more. 

“True.” Harrison clears away the chessboard and pieces. Only once he’s tucked the board away does he lean over the desk and give Hartley a maddeningly brief kiss. “But remember, I took you home so that we could have more than a quick office fuck.” 

Hartley’s breathing hitches. “Maybe I want a quick office fuck,” he suggests. 

It’s a deliciously tempting idea—Hartley would look perfect spread out on a desk or kneeling in front of Harrison's chair, thoroughly debauched and loving every second. Still, he’d like to give him a few more firsts where they can be assured of their privacy. “Later, I promise. For now, I still want to spoil you.” 

This is how they come to be at Harrison's house once again. As before, Hartley goes quiet the moment they step through the door, his shoulders curling inward and his head ducking down. Harrison gives him a gentle kiss. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing.” His reply is too quick, too dismissive. When Harrison studies him, he sighs. “I feel…out of place. It’s nothing, really.” 

Harrison considers this. Then he flashes Hartley a quick, lopsided grin. “If you want, I could help you relax.” 

Hartley clearly thinks he means kissing. Harrison takes some pleasure in startling him by fetching a bottle of scotch. “Harrison!” he gasps, laughter teasing around the edges of his words. “I can’t!” 

Harrison pours a glass. “Nobody needs to know,” he says, smiling—a challenge. Hesitantly, Hartley holds out a hand for the glass. “It only has to be the one.”

Hartley’s first taste of scotch can barely be called a sip. He licks more off his lips than he drinks directly from the glass, although the whole affair is conducted with such an intent expression that Harrison can’t help but be charmed. 

“Good?” 

Hartley makes a noncommittal sound and takes another sip. This time, his eyes widen. “Oh, _that’s_ why people say it burns!” 

Harrison chuckles. Moments like these remind him of precisely how young Hartley is. “Your parents never let you have a drink at any of their events?”

Hartley narrows his eyes and bites out a curt, “No.” There’s a story there that one day, with patience, Harrison might pry out of him. The memory of it lingers like a double exposure in an old photograph, making Hartley down his drink in eager gulps and pour himself another glass. 

So that Hartley isn’t drinking alone, Harrison pours himself a glass and sips at it. He has no intention of getting drunk. If Hartley does, that’s his own choice. 

Before long, the tension has gone out of Hartley’s shoulders. He looks good loose and relaxed from the scotch, a lazy smile on his face and a pretty pink flush staining his cheeks. Harrison traces a thumb over the line of Hartley’s cheekbone. “Do you think you’ve had enough to drink?”

“Mhmm.” Hartley beams. He tries to set his glass on the nearest countertop without looking. Only Harrison's prompt assistance spares the glass an unpleasant drop to the floor. “You said you wanted me ‘relaxed.’ Well, I am, so…” He presses a clumsy kiss to Harrison's jaw. “Are you going to fuck me now?” 

“Yes, I am.” Harrison pulls him close and kisses him properly. Hartley opens up to him with a desperate little whimper, letting Harrison deepen the kiss until they’re both breathless. “But not here.”

They leave a trail of clothes to the bedroom—their shirts, then Harrison's shoes. Hartley attempts to take off his trousers without removing his shoes, gets the hems caught, and winds up falling on his ass. With a valiant effort, Harrison doesn’t laugh at him. “You must have had more to drink than I thought.”

Hartley kicks off his shoes as though they’ve personally offended him. “I don’t like being drunk,” he says plaintively. “I feel stupid.” 

“It’s all right.” Harrison helps him to his feet and gives him another kiss. While Hartley is distracted, he pushes the troublesome trousers the rest of the way down. 

Hartley is markedly less shy about being naked when he’s drunk. He stands and lets Harrison study him, unabashed if somewhat impatient. “You can look at me when we’re in bed.”

“I can.” Harrison skims his fingertips over the fading bruises on Hartley’s clavicle. When he presses down, Hartley’s eyes darken and his breathing hitches. “Maybe I just like to look at you—have you considered that?”

“Do you like seeing your marks on me?” Hartley’s attempt to play coy is ruined by his breathless tone and the way he leans into Harrison's touch. Still, he tries, playing shy when he confesses, “The first few days, when I could still feel them, I would press on them like you just did. The first time, I was in the lab, and I moaned out loud…” 

Harrison seizes Hartley’s wrists and squeezes until he whimpers. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he chides. Hartley tries to pull away, his expression shifting from aroused to alarmed. Harrison forces himself to gentle his tone. “If anyone finds out about this, they might think it’s…improper. You’re my employee, after all.” 

Hartley nods, still stung by Harrison's remonstrance. “Then maybe we should stop.” 

Harrison laughs. “Don’t sulk. It doesn’t become you.” He lays a trail of kisses up the side of Hartley’s neck, sucking softly on the skin but stopping well before he would leave a mark. Hartley whimpers again, with pleasure this time, and tilts his head to one side to give Harrison better access to his neck. “We don’t have to stop. We just need to be…discreet.” 

Between clothing mishaps and kisses, it takes them far longer to make it to the bedroom than it did last time. In that span of time, Hartley loses whatever remains of his coordination along with a great deal of his energy. When they step through the door, he’s close to a dead weight against Harrison's side. Harrison deposits him unceremoniously on the bed and goes in search of lubricant. By the time he returns, Hartley’s eyes have fallen closed. They flutter half-open when Harrison lowers himself onto the mattress between his spread thighs. 

“Sleepy?” Harrison teases. He gives Hartley a deep, slow kiss. Hartley opens up to him but doesn’t really kiss back. Harrison has to laugh. “You were so eager before.”

Hartley winces and whimpers when Harrison pushes into him. One of his hands comes up like he’s trying to push Harrison away, but he’s too uncoordinated to lay his palm against Harrison's chest, much less push him off. Harrison grabs his wrist and pins it to the mattress. “You wanted this, Hartley. Remember?”

By the time Harrison reaches his climax, Hartley has gone pliant and still. He half-wakes when Harrison eases out of him, but he’s too hazy to know or care where he is. The effort it takes him to focus on Harrison's face is almost cute. 

“Just rest.” Harrison gives him a tender kiss. It’s a counterpoint to the bite marks he’s left scattered over Hartley’s shoulders, uneven and misshapen as a leopard’s spots. “Have you learned a lesson about drinking this much?”

Hartley makes a soft sound in his throat that might be assent or just pleasure at being kissed. His eyes fall closed again and he lapses back into unconsciousness between one breath and the next. Harrison turns him onto his side, kisses his temple, and leaves him there.


End file.
